Through My Eyes
by Shattered Reality
Summary: (Angsty AU) Obi gives in to the darkness and turns his back to the Jedi. Will anyone try to save him before it's too late -- and if so, will he let them?
1. TME Prequel

TITLE: Through My Eyes  
  
AUTHOR: Neniae  
  
CONTACT: Neomail aslyinn or email aslyinn@yahoo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Star Wars. In fact, I don't own anything. Don't bother suing me, 'cause you won't get anything. Point taken?  
  
SUMMARY/NOTES: Sort of an odd A/U story. Definately not my usual style. A really sad story about Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, with a poem at the end (meant to be from Qui-Gon's point of view) that I wrote myself. You can use the poem for whatever you want as long as you ask me first... same thing goes for archiving this story.   
  
This is complete. If you really want a sequel, say so in your review. I'm not planning on making one, but if I get enough requests then I will. And if you liked this, then go read my other Star Wars fic, Tears for Innocence.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Obi-Wan sat at his desk, legs swinging idly as he typed away at a data pad containing that day's homework. The glo-lights above his head shone with a dull gleam, shedding a dreary mood upon the whole room. The noise of hovercraft and pedestrians came through even here as a dull sort of murmer that would not go away, no matter what he did. Sighing, Obi tossed the data pad carelessly back on the table. He thought that the work might be on Endor's geology, but he wasn't really concentrating enough to tell. He was automatically just answering the questions without even reading them.  
  
He had seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.  
  
His mind was not on the questions, but off elsewhere. He just couldn't seem to ever focus on anything anymore. His grades had been failing for a while now, but at this point he didn't really care. He'd been avoiding his friends a lot, afraid that they would realize that something was wrong. He knew from the last time that he'd seen them that they were suspicious. They all knew that something was up, but they didn't have enough of an idea of what was wrong to voice their fears to his Master. They wouldn't say anything. They wouldn't. No...  
  
He tried to convince himself that it was true, though he knew deep down that it might not be any longer.  
  
He had been skipping school fairly often. He was probably there about one or two days per week now. Whenever he did bother to go - mainly on the days when his Master was around when it was time for him to leave - he skipped quite a few of the classes. A normal day for him had used to be going to school each morning, walking to his classes with his friends, and paying attention in class, then goofing off with everyone else at lunch hour, seeing if they could break the Academy's all-time record score for the longest-lasting food fight. Nowadays, if he went to school at all, he wore dark clothes so that he wouldn't be noticed, and slunk into the school through the back door. He walked slowly from class to class, so far out of the usual noise and bustle of the halls that he brushed up against the wall as he walked. He never spoke a word during the whole day, whether it be to a friend or a teacher. When he'd been through two or three classes, he'd just walk out the back door and wander around the deserted city streets for hours on end. No one watched him there. No one cared what he did.  
  
No one tried to control his every move.  
  
He just couldn't stand it in the Temple anymore. Couldn't stand being told what to do. Couldn't stand being told exactly how to do it. Couldn't stand being watched every waking moment by one Jedi Master or another, waiting and hoping that he'd mess up something so that they could laugh at him. Couldn't stand the reprimands he was given by his Master, the odd looks that his friends gave him, the worried looks of his Master. Couldn't stand the noise. Couldn't stand the people. Couldn't stand the silence. Couldn't stand being alone.  
  
Everything just seemed to be falling apart.  
  
He wanted away. He wanted out. He wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else, anywhere but here. He wanted a chance to get away from it all for just once so that he could try to figure out this tangled, twisted, unpleasant thing that was his life. He knew that he needed to get out NOW, before he went insane. He had already started to have weird dreams. Strange and violent thoughts. Even suicidal thoughts.  
  
There was a shadow lurking in the back of his mind, and it wouldn't go away.  
  
He could never escape it. He'd felt the shadow since long before he became Master Qui-Gon's Padawan. He had been suprised that no mention had been made of it at the time, but now he knew with deadly certainty that it had not been mentioned because no one else knew. The shadow was always there, and it made him uneasy. Frightened. And yes - even fearful. And he didn't feel in control any longer. He felt like he was caged up inside his own mind.  
  
It was controlling him.  
  
Even as the words came to his mind unbidden, he knew that it was true. The shadow, the Dark Side of the Force, was controlling him. He was completely helpless. Completely under its control. Already beaten. The battle had been won, and the light had not been the victor.  
  
He let go of his last remaining shred of hope.  
  
As his Master walked into the room, he slouched down in his chair, despondant. Qui-gon looked at his Padawan with kindness in his eyes. "Padawan, I think that we need to talk." The boy ignored him. He repeated the command, adding a touch of the Force to his voice, but it still had no effect.  
  
Walking quietly towards him, Qui-Gon pulled a second chair next to him and sat down. "Padawan, this is important. We cannot simply keep on ignoring it, and you know that as well as I do. Something is wrong, and I want you to stop shielding, and stop trying to avoid me." His tone suddenly had an air of pleading. "Please, Padawan."  
  
With a snarl, Obi spun around in his chair. His eyes had a wild look about them, and a strange reddish tint. Black energy crackled in the air around him. "I am no longer your Padawan!" With a glare towards his former teacher, he sprang up and stalked off, leaving a very shocked, confused, and hurt Qui-Gon behind him.  
  
A few hours later, on a planet far away, a young boy lay on the floor. He was curled up into a ball for warmth, a ragged cloak drawn across his body. Tears streaked his face, and yet his expression was one of calmness, and happiness. A lightsaber lay next to him that he had apparently forgotten to turn off. The single blade crackled as small threads of red began to spread through it.  
  
And on the floor lay a thin braid, ragged ends snaking across the wood as it brushed against the saber and went up in flames.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Once you step out past that point,  
You shall see the world to change.  
The tides are rising; the world stands still;  
The wind carries the message to us all:  
It is time for the truth to tell.  
If you see this world  
From through my eyes,  
You would know this truth  
And could change our fate...  
But no matter how you try,  
And no matter what you do,  
You can never seem to see  
The world just as I do.  
And no matter how you scream,  
And no matter how you fight,  
The wind shall carry your last breath away  
As you fall to what you're told is right.  
No matter what you want,  
And no matter what you need,  
There's nothing here in this world for you,  
Since the truth you cannot see.  
So run off and seek shelter  
In a land far, far away,  
Or try your luck at battle  
Though you know you can't but lose;  
For no matter what you dream of,  
No matter what you wish,  
Until through my eyes you see the world  
A true life you shan't live. 


	2. TME Message

- Yes, due to requests, this will be continued. But, read on... -  
  
Something horrible beyond belief has just happened to me. I can't really begin to describe it truely, because it still hurts to say what happened. It hurt enough to write about it the first time as well, and I don't know if I can stand to write about it again. Please, just go and read this: http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1076286  
  
Please at least try to understand how upset I am right now...  
  
  
  
- This fic has been posponed until I get enough of a grip on my sanity to do anything but cry. - 


	3. TME Meeting With a Mercenary

AUTHOR: Neniae  
CONTACT: aslyinn@yahoo.com  
  
Well, I'm finally back and working on it again. My Internet isn't connected right now, so I'll post this later and thank all of my reviewers in the next chapter.  
  
By the way, I'm currently trading shameless plugs. If you tell me in your review that you put a plug for this in one of your stories, then I'll put up a plug for one of yours.  
  
Obi-Wan is about 15 right now.  
  
For the new character: yeah, he has a weird accent, and I've typed the words the way that he says them because I think that it adds to his personality. It isn't that much different, but if for some reason you have trouble figuring out something that he says, then try pronouncing the words the way that they're typed and you'll get what he's saying.  
  
Oh, and I admit that the new character's opening line was taken from some book that I read a few weeks ago and then edited to be more Star Wars-ish. It's still funny, thought. And now, on to the story!  
  
  
  
  
The planet D'renth was similar to Tatooine as far as its populace went -- any "business" conducted there tended to be either illegal or close to it. It had been a base for the Imperials during the last war, and many had not bothered to leave afterwards. The old Sith fortress had been torn down, of course, but it was considered quite common to see a Stormtrooper in full armor walking down the main street. However, D'renth did differ from Tatooine in one way. Weather. Frigid winds buffeted the whole planet yearlong, and any off-worlders caught outside in the middle of the night generally froze to death.  
  
The wind was blowing just as fiercely as ever through a small, unnamed city only four fajhe (A/N: one fajhe is about three quarters of a mile) from the capitol, Jik'das. There were few people on the streets, and most were now rnning for shelter as clouds in a particularly sickly shade of purple formed overhead. The people dashed quickly through the cobblestone alleys, scarves held before their faces to protect them from the chill. They were looking for their houses, or bars, the only places open at this time of night. If one person had lowered their scarf slightly in passing, they would've seen the silouette of a slim figure framed in the lighted windows of the inn "The Salataria" across the street -- but it was cold, and the people were in a hurry, and no one cared to look.  
  
Inside the Salataria, glowglobes cast a dim yellowish light over the humans and aliens huddled at the tables and around the bar. The human who had been standing next to the window slunk over to the bar, his dark brow cloak stiff with encrusted mud making him appear no more reputable than the other occupants. When he sat down on a high, plastisteel bar stool, he slumped and kept his hood up and his eyes lowered, glaring at the fake marble tabletop as if it had somehow managed to insult him. If it had been a living creature and looks really could kill, it would have been writhing in pain on the floor within seconds.  
  
"Whaddaya want, kid?" slurred a barmaid as she came out of her drunk stupor long enough to notice him. When he did not immediately reply, she yanked off his hood and repeated her question viciously. Angry sea colored eyes surveyed her for a moment before the youth harshly said, "Corellian liquor. Blue. And make it extra strong." His eyes snapped closed as the shocked barmaid bustled off to get it.  
  
A few minutes later, he sat sipping the electric blue liquid. The night before, he had used a permanant dye ground from a dark stone found in this region to experiment with his hair: instead of short blonde spikes fading to white, his spikes now faded to black. He'd also drawn two thin horizontal black lines across one cheek, parallel to one another. The symbol of death. It had done the job that he intended it to do; no one had messed with him. He ignored the kids and adults of this planet alike. Almost all of the adults ran one illegal business or another, and most of the kids were slaves, prostitutes, street-rats, or gang members, any of which would slit your throat without a second thought. And so everyone took the hint and ignored him as well. Until...  
  
The boy on his left suddenly suggested that Obi-Wan's mother had done something rather unlikely with a bantha.  
  
Obi-Wan jumped up, shattering the glass and sending the liquor splattering on the floor as he whirled to face the kid who had just insulted him. "AND YOURS WITH A WAMP RAT!!!" he bellowed, the consequences of his action clouded over by all the red that he was seeing.  
  
The whole bar went completely silent. Obi-Wan mentally cursed at himself for being so stupid... from the reaction of the other occupants, he had just talked back to the wrong person. Great. Now he was probably going to get clobbered.  
  
The other boy suddenly cracked up laughing, and the other people in the room relaxed and started talking again. He held his hand out, and Obi-Wan cautiously shook it.   
  
"You've got spunk, kid. You're stupid, but you've got spunk." A pause. "I'm Kajir. And you?"  
  
"My name belongs to a past that I do not want to remember. Just call me... Kid."  
  
"We can't 'ave ya walkin 'round a place like dis with a name like dat. People'll think you're soft. Ya need a proper name, somethin rough-like." He snapped his fingers. "Got it! - you kin be called Tairth. We 'ad a Tairth a while ago, but then the Stormtroopers thought he waz annoyin so dey shot 'em."  
  
Obi-Wan was not too happy about being named after a dead person, but what name he went by didn't really matter. It was just something that other people called you, after all. "That's fine. So... Kajir... what's your line of work?"  
  
Tairth could tell that Kajir was examining him closely to see if he could be trusted. Suddenly he nodded as if in approval of what he saw. "Me 'n my mates, we 'ad a little gang. We did pick-pocketin, some other small-time thefts, but den we got into da assassin business. We're workin as mercenaries now cause da pay is better."  
  
"So do you travel a lot, then?"  
  
Kajir's eyes lit up. "Oh, so yur hidin from sommun! Don't want ta get caught, so yer lookin ta get as far away as possible?"  
  
Tairth nodded curtly. It was a lie in a way, because he knew that Kajir was referring to hiding from the law. But still, he was hiding - from Qui-Gon - and he didn't want to be found.  
  
"Me 'n my mates, we travel a good bit. We take jobs when we can find 'em, and when we can't, we got a nice little ship we've fitted up special, 'n so we be pirates till we get anutter job. It's a nice life cause ya can do what ya want, mostly. We don't get caught by da officials much, 'n we don't take sides with da Rebbies or da Imps, so dey don't bother us."  
  
Just then, someone turned on another glow-globe, and Tairth got his first good look at Kajir. He was about nineteen or twenty years old, with naturally spiky black hair. His bangs were long enough to cast a slight shadow across his face, but not quite long enough to cover his eyes, and he had brushed them to one side. Tairth realized with a silent laught that he too had experimented with the miraculous substance known as permanant dye -- there was one section of his hair that was a deep purple, and this was on the right side at the edge of the bangs. He wore plain gray pants and a tunic that were tight enough to not get in the way in a fight but loose enough to allow for freedom of movement and the carrying of hidden weapons. Tairth's eyes, however, were trained to observe just this and so he noted that Kajir had several knives and a blaster currently on him. But even Tairth would have trouble reading his new friend's eyes, for they were so dark of a green as to be practically black. He looked, all in all, like an experienced fighter that you wouldn't want to mess with if you could possibly avoid it. A dangerous enemy, if provoked... but a powerful friend.  
  
"So, would ya be lookin to join us?" Kajir inquired.  
  
"And what if I am?"  
  
"I'd need proof that you're a good fighter 'n that ya won't just be in da way. Yer heart's in da right place, kid, but I can't be babysittin ya. I don't have da time for it."  
  
Tairth gave Kajir one of his infamous grins. "Me, having a babysitter again?" Kajir raised one eyebrow. "Thanks for the offer, Kajir -- you'd make a good babysitter -- but I'm afraid that I'll have to decline. You see, I'm not in diapers anymore and I do know how to take care of myself." With this, Tairth whipped out his lightsaber from underneath his cloak and held it (deactivated) where only Kajir could see it.  
  
Tairth watched as Kajir's jaw dropped and practically hit the floor. "So, am I in?" he asked cheekily.  
  
Kajir still looked like he was in shock. "Y-yah Tairth, y-you're in..."  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's notes: Wow, that was long! I conside this chapter to be some of my best writing on FanFiction.Net so far... I hope that you enjoyed it. In the next chapter, you get to see the blue Corellian liquor take its toll ^_~   
  
I'm looking for a Beta reader/editor, preferably someone who is already an author on here, so if you're interested and you check your email at least every other day just let me know in your review. (I can't have someone who checks it less often because then the chapters would never get posted!)  
  
As always, please review - I am working on several stories at once and whichever get the most reviews are updated the soonest. Compliments, comments, ideas, suggestions, and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated! 


	4. TME Urgent Author's Note

To the readers:  
The author is currently banging her head on the desk because of her persistant and long-lasting case of writer's block. She isn't having any trouble turing out good writing; she's just finding it impossible to come up with any good ideas right now. If you have any suggestions as to where this story should go now, please inform her via a review, email (cithaerion@comcast.net), or aim (Silatyr). Thank you!  
.s.h.a.t.t.e.r. 


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